It was one of Tao's interplanetary vehicles, rising slowly in a great arc above us. I swung our light-beams upward; it swept across the sky and fell upon the white shape; the thing seemed to poise in its flight, as though held by the little red circle of light that fastened upon it, boring its way in. Then, slowly at first, it fell; faster and faster it dropped, until it struck the ground with a great crash--the first and only sound of all this soundless warfare. * * * * * It was three days before the great sulphur deposit we had ignited burned itself out. The lights of the city had all died away, and blackness such as I never hope to experience again settled down upon the scene. We approached the Dark City then; we even entered one or two of its outlying houses;, but beyond that we did not go, for we had made certain of what we wanted to know. I remember my father once describing how, when a young man, he had gone to the little island of Martinique shortly after the great volcanic outbreak of Mount Pelée. I remember his reluctance to dwell upon the scenes he saw there in that silent city of St. Pierre--the houses with their dead occupants, stricken as they were sitting about the family table; the motionless forms in the streets, lying huddled where death had overtaken them in their sudden panic. That same reluctance silences me now, for one does not voluntarily dwell upon such scenes as those. A day or so later we found the interplanetary projectile which had sought to escape. Amid its wreckage lay the single, broken form of Tao--that leader who, plotting the devastation of two worlds for his own personal gain, had at the very last deserted his comrades and met his death alone. CHAPTER XXIX. THE RETURN. There is but little more to add. With the death of Tao and the changing of the law concerning the virgins' wings, my mission on Mercury was over. But I did not think of that then, for with the war ended, my position as virtual ruler of the Light Country still held Mercer and me occupied with a multiplicity of details. It was a month or more after our return from the Twilight Country that Miela reminded me of father and my duty to him. "You have forgotten, my husband. But I have not. Your world--it calls you now. You must go back." Go back home--to father and dear little Beth! I had not realized how much I had wanted it. "What you have done for our nation--for our girls--can never be repaid, Alan. And you can do more in later years, perhaps. But now your father needs you--and we must think of him." I cast aside every consideration of what changes would first have to be made here on Mercury, and decided in that moment to go. "But you must go with me, Miela," I said, and then, as I thought of something else, I added gently: "You will, won't you, little wife? For you know I cannot leave you now." She smiled her tender little smile.